


Never Been So Divine

by andlightplay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andlightplay/pseuds/andlightplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck gets some unexpected visitors, Becky is confused as to why they're so insistent that he can help, and it all has something to do with the Winchesters. (post-S6 finale)</p>
<p>Originally <a href="http://andlightplay.livejournal.com/35317.html">posted on LJ</a> 07/08/11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Been So Divine

When the doorbell rings, Becky’s first thought is that the most likely people to be calling this late are the Winchesters, and if she maybe kind of runs to open the door, well, Chuck is upstairs in the study and can’t see her do it.

It’s not the Winchesters. What it _is_ is a gaggle of people, men and women of all ages and races and fashion senses, and all of them are watching her with sharp, piercing stares. The split-second thought that they might be a crazed bunch of fans fades as quickly as it came - something about them makes her feel like her hair should be standing on end. (She checks. It isn’t.)

“Excuse us,” says the one in the black suit, brushing past her and into the house like he owns it. She turns to tell him to mind his manners or something, and catches Chuck freezing halfway down the stairs. His eyes flick from the man in the suit, to the others now slipping in after him, and he swallows convulsively. Becky raises her eyebrows enquiringly at him, but she isn’t sure he even sees.

“What- what are you all doing here?” Chuck asks, staring round at them again, and Suit Guy clicks his tongue irritably.

“Don’t play pretend, _Chuck_ ,” and something about the way he pronounces the name sounds weird, sort of...mocking, and it’s nothing to do with the fact that he’s British.

“We’ve been very tolerant until now,” says a huge black man in a voice that’s as deep as the sea, “but this we cannot ignore-”

“Yes yes, okay, can we maybe take this upstairs?” Chuck breaks in nervously, finally looking over at Becky, who’s folded her arms. These people don’t _look_ like gangsters, but that’s sure what they _sound_ like. Of course, if Chuck’s been borrowing money from them or whatever he’s hidden it extremely well, but. There’s definitely something going on here.

She must have zoned out with worry, because when she looks back up the hall’s empty. There are voices floating down from upstairs though, and Becky hesitates for a second - Chuck obviously doesn’t want her to hear this - but she needs to know how much trouble he’s in.

“-you’ve shirked your duties for long enough, I think, look at what’s been happening-”

“-was a little _worried_ that your Apocalypse would indeed come about-”

“-clearly your instructions were insufficient; see how they have squabbled amongst themselves, dropping like mayflies-”

“-after all, Apocalypses are good for, ah, _business_ \- so many suddenly find their faith when the sky goes black with demons or their homes burn to ashes around them-”

“-running around unchecked with Death strolling in their wake, I’d have killed them a thousand times over if I didn’t know your little flitterbees would just bring them back again-”

“-cannot allow this, it’s already such a tight competition and you’ve been allowed the monopoly for the last few years-”

“-need to act now, before the eclipse ends-”

“-after all, in the end he’s just a jumped-up little sod too blinded by love of the Winchesters-” 

Becky sucks in a breath, hand clenching on the stair rail. This is about the Winchesters? For the thousand-millionth time she hates that Chuck has banned her from reading the new stuff until it’s finished and over with and in its final draft, because as far as she knows Cas has just sunk the _Titanic_ to save them. Is that what they’re so angry about? And why on Earth is it Chuck’s fault?

She hears Chuck sigh, the weary one he usually uses just before he slumps over and thunks his head onto the desk and bemoans the stupidity of Sam and Dean Winchester, never able to leave well enough alone. “Okay, okay. Just let me-” and he appears at the top of the stairs. Becky hastily lets go of the stair rail, but there’s no point in jumping down three stairs because it’s pretty obvious what she was doing. Chuck just smiles at her though, a little awkwardly, like he does when he’s trying to hide that fact that he’s already had three beers before she came home.

“Chuck, what’s going on? What are all those people making you do?”

“Oh, you heard?” He seems distracted, glancing back into his study. “I uh, I’m gonna go out for a little, honey. Okay?”

“Are you sure? What’s happened? It’s Sam and Dean, isn’t it? Are they okay?”

“No, no they’re uh, they’re fine, it’s not _them_ \- Becky, I really have to go-”

“Oh. Okay-” but he’s already...gone. Becky frowns, going up another step. There’s no more noise coming from the study either, and when she gets high enough to peer cautiously in, it’s empty. Okay. What the hell just happened?

Then she sees that Chuck’s screen is still white, text in neat black lines down three-quarters of the page, and forgets everything else. She takes the last four steps two at a time and throws herself towards the computer, coming to a stop in front of it with her brain supplying a Loony Tunes-style skidding noise, and greedily skimming the last couple of paragraphs. 

Then she has to stop, and stare, and go back up a few more paragraphs, something buzzing through her veins where her blood should be. What-?

> ”I’m your new god,” said the thing in front of them that used to be an angel, that used to be their friend. “A better one.” Sam and Dean stared at each other in dawning horror. “So you will bow down and profess your love unto me your Lord, or I shall destroy you.”

*

Dean’s still staring at Cas in disbelief while his brain tries to wrap around what Cas just said, trying to rationalise this distant, wrathful and frankly creepy version of Cas with the awkward, determined and absolute one he’s known for the last four years. The silence and stillness stretches on too long, and he sees Cas’s eyes narrow, blazing brighter-

Then the door Dean and Bobby came through what feels like ages ago squeaks open, and Chuck walks in.

Dean does a double take, because _what_ , and watches Chuck take in the scene and mouth ‘Oh crap.’ His eyes sweep over Dean, over Sam and Bobby, and come to rest on Cas - and Cas sucks in a breath like he’s been punched.

“Father.”

Dean feels his eyes go so wide he feels like it’s a good bet they might pop out their sockets any second. _Chuck_? _Chuck_ is- Chuck is _God_? Yeah, sure, he’s wearing some kind of douchy white suit that Dean’s pretty sure he’d never have been able to keep clean without divine help, given the state of his house, but... _God_? And didn’t Cas say Sammy’s necklace was meant to light up or sing hallelujah if it came across God? Cause there wasn’t a peep out of it the whole time they were trying to stop Sam sleeping with Lilith. Not to mention that Cas has met the guy before and shown no sign of bowing and scraping, so maybe his God-sense is faulty. Of course, it’s not like he’s exactly falling over himself to lick Chuck’s boots now either.

“What finally convinced you to return? Fear that your position was being usurped? You’re too late, I’m already a better god than you. I’m making the world a better place. Those who are faithful to me will be rewarded, not abandoned.”

Dean winces, biting down on his instinctive _No really Cas, that’s okay, feel free to abandon us for a little._ He knows Cas kind of has serious daddy issues, probably enough to match his own, and that he’s never really had the opportunity to express them before now except by getting spectacularly drunk. This is not gonna be pretty.

“I came out of concern for you, Castiel,” Chuck says evenly. “You’re not made for this kind of power, you won’t be able to contain it.”

“I am far stronger than you think,” Cas snarls. “Strong enough to hold my own against Raphael in all his might, strong enough to prevent another Apocalypse, strong enough to endure all those I ever considered family betraying and forsaking me.” His eyes flick to Dean and away again. 

“No,” Chuck says quietly, “you were strong enough to fight Raphael because you dealt with the demon Crowley. That strength was lent to you by fifty thousand damned souls, and look where that has led you.”

“I have enough power to finally make the world right,” Cas hisses, glow creeping back down his body. “Those who would see it destroyed can finally be punished.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. Too many have already died because of you.” Chuck turns to include Sam and Dean in this, and Dean drops his eyes. He’s not saying he wouldn’t do it again - Zachariah was freaking asking for it - but he gets it might be kind of a blow when they were your kids. “Uriel had begun killing his own garrison and Raphael’s blind faith threatened the safety of those you have grown to love most,” he waves a hand at Dean, Sam and Bobby, “but Gabriel? Anna? Rachael? Balthazar?” His hand flicks out again, and Dean turns to see Balthazar sprawled over by the window, wings curled inwards like a shield. Crap. “Zachariah may have threatened Sam and Dean’s wellbeing, but he would never have killed them. Michael’s absence ensured Raphael’s rise to power. Not to mention the hundreds killed in your civil war, after millennia of peace. Not since _Lucifer_ fell-” 

“Balthazar was a traitor,” Cas says coldly. “Rachael found out about my deal and threatened to expose me. Gabriel chose his own path when he left Heaven. Anna tried to kill Sam. Zachariah tried to kill both of them, frequently. And Michael would have left Dean an empty husk.”

“You see?” Chuck says softly, eyes locked on Cas. “Lately you’ve been protecting yourself, but you used to do things to protect others, to protect those you considered family.”

“I have always protected them!” Cas shouts. “I have considered myself the Winchesters’ guardian ever since I raised Dean from Hell and saw the purity of his soul, ever since I met Sam and found him to be the least abomination worthy of the name. It is they who stopped trusting in me!”

“That’s cause you made a freaking deal with the King of Hell, you dumb fuck!” Dean bursts out. “You should’ve come to us, we’re your friends, we’d have found another way!” Sam and Bobby are watching him with wide eyes, as surprised as Dean that he dares interrupt Cas and Chuck’s shouting match, but it’s the truth and Cas has never _listened_. Both of them are staring at him too, and abruptly Cas switches his light off.

“I did.”

“You did what?”

“I came to you,” Cas says, eyes boring into Dean’s. “I came to you while you were staying with Lisa Braedon, and I would have told you everything - that I had raised Sam, but something was wrong; that none of my brothers and sisters could understand how to think for themselves and looked at me like fish asked to recite poetry; that Raphael had ordered me to swear fealty to him or be destroyed, and when I refused-”

“Oh, so you’re taking notes out of his book now?” Dean asks scathingly, and Cas frowns. “What, that doesn’t sound kind of familiar to you? As in, it’s what you just told us to do? Jesus Cas, you’d think that after you’d been through the same thing-”

“It is nothing alike! I am not intending to re-start the Apocalypse!” Cas says angrily, light washing over him again. “I am trying to fix my Father’s mistakes! I am trying to make the world better for _you_ , and all your kind!”

“It doesn’t need to be fixed, I liked it the way it was!” Dean shouts back. “I liked it when it was you, and me, and Sam and Bobby; team free will, remember? I liked it when it was you telling hookers not to feel bad about their dads leaving, and calling Raphael your bitch, and getting drunk and trying to explain Enochian jokes, while Sam geeked away on his laptop and Bobby told us we were all idjits! I liked it when you were an angel who’d learned to be human, not now you’re juiced up on Purgatory and planning to destroy the world just as much as Raphael was!”

Cas is staring at him, and everyone else is staring at them. Dean’s willing to bet they aren’t even breathing; he’s kind of holding his breath himself. The last time he’d tried this, Cas had almost looked like it was getting though, then shut him down. There’s only so many times he can keep trying.

“I am nothing like Raphael,” Cas says finally, body flaring gold, and Dean wants to bang his head against a wall. “I am not trying to destroy the world, but to improve it, to make it as it should always have been-”

“Cas, we’ve gone over this before, you stupid bastard! I told you, I’d rather be on an Earth that’s full of all the usual shit than in some kind of freaky Stepford paradise, cause that, that’s just not _right_ , and you _know_ that. You keep saying you’re doing everything for me, so _do_ it. Put the nukes down and walk away.”

“You got Raphael,” Sam says, and Dean had almost forgotten he was there. “That’s what you always said you wanted, right? That’s why you took the deal in the first place? Well, now he’s dead, and you gotta let it go, Cas. It’s not as simple as just deciding to stop and magically everything’s okay again, I know it’s not, but you have to try. Please.”

Cas swallows, and his eyes flicker like a candle flame, followed by his whole body. It happens again, and for a moment Dean thinks that’s it, they’ve done it, but then Cas goes up brighter than ever, too bright to even look at properly, and the air starts to go static. The light dims again, enough to see Cas, eyes shut and fists clenched, but then it starts wavering again, flares of it chasing all over him, and he opens his eyes and looks up at Chuck, something like panic lurking in their depths.

“Father, I...I can’t...”

Chuck looks down at him kind of like he wants to cry. “Oh Castiel, what have you done? I- if you’d just been thinking you’d use them to take out Raphael and secure your victory when you took them in, if it had been meant to be temporary, your grace would have kept itself more separate, protected itself better, but you were so furious at what you saw as betrayal on every side, so consumed with a sense of your own righteousness... They’re all tangled up, everything’s one big mess and I don’t think I can- if I had more time, maybe, but the eclipse...it has to be now.”

Cas holds his gaze, then drops his eyes and closes them again, nodding. Chuck zaps down from the top of the staircase to his side, hand going to Cas’s shoulder like he wants to tell him he’s proud of him but can’t find the words, and Dean takes an unconscious step forward.

“Hey, woah, what are you-?” 

Chuck looks up and shakes his head. Cas seeks out Dean's eyes, Sam's, Bobby's, then squares his shoulders and turns away.

And then they’re gone.

*

Chuck reappears exactly where he left maybe five minutes later, Cas in his arms and being lowered gently down to the floor. “A little help here please, boys?”

“What have you-?” Sam starts, crouched at Cas’s side while Dean shucks off his jacket to put under his head, and Chuck holds up a hand and closes his eyes, both hands hovering above Cas’s chest. Little wisps and shreds of light starts gathering around his fingers like he’s some kind of magnet, drawn from Cas’s body like shards of glass.

“What’s-?” Dean murmurs, and Sam blinks back tears.

“I think that’s what’s left of his grace.”

Chuck’s hands are shining now like the world’s weirdest pairs of gloves, but you can still see the outline of his fingers and Dean remembers the supernova brightness of Anna’s returning grace, the vivid explosion whenever an angel dies, and knows that this is nothing. Chuck breathes deep and gently presses his hands to Cas’s chest. The grace flows off him and back into Cas like quicksilver, vanishing like water.

“It’s enough,” Chuck says in satisfaction, looking up and right at Dean like he can read Dean’s thoughts (well duh, of course he can), then rocks back on his heels. “Now Sam, what about...” and reaches for Sam’s head.

“No,” Sam says sharply, lurching backwards and catching himself on his hands. “No, I don’t want another wall, I want to remember. I need to know.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” Bobby says sharply.

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean says, stricken, remembering Sam collapsing onto the motel room floor in agony, but Sam just glares at him.

“I need to know, Dean. It’s part of me. And no offense Chuck, but if even Death couldn’t put up a good wall, then... I’ll learn to manage it, it’ll be fine.”

Chuck withdraws his hand. “Alright, it’s your decision.”

“Hey, if you don’t think that’s gonna work-” Dean begins heatedly, but Chuck holds up both hands.

“Sam has an extremely strong will, Dean, as you well know. If he says he’ll learn to manage it, I believe him.”

“Great,” Dean mutters, looking away and then back down at Cas. “So what about Cas?”

Chuck smiles sadly. “He’s human now, for all intents and purposes. That amount of grace is roughly equivalent to a human soul, though not nearly as powerful, so don’t go expecting any more miracles. He’s served his purpose on the celestial plane.”

“He’s _served_ his _purpose_?” Dean repeats furiously, and Chuck nods, seemingly unconcerned.

“Oh yes, he has wholly embraced free will like none of his brothers before him - except perhaps Gabriel, but,” and his nose wrinkles, like Gabriel was a beloved but kind of wayward toddler. “He even tried to pass on the knowledge to his brothers and sisters, but they haven't had the...crash course he had and it's still a little difficult for them to grasp. As he said, it’s rather like trying to teach poetry to fish,” and he smiles. “In any case, I believe he said himself that he would rather be here on Earth, with you?” 

“Well yeah,” Dean says, “but I don't think he meant-” 

“I think it'll suit him,” Chuck says thoughtfully. “He'll only be killing those creatures that humanity needs killing, which will be quite a change for him after the last year, and he'll finally be free to make his own choices without worrying about the effect he’ll have, whether he’s disobeying orders or marking himself out as a target. And of course, he'll be with you.” He fixes Dean, Sam and Bobby with a long stare. “I know it won’t be easy, learning to trust him again, but you all already know that family isn’t all apple pies and warm fuzzies and I hope you’ll make the effort to try. After all, you’ve done it before.”

For the first time he actually sounds like a concerned father, trying to sort out his kid’s squabbles, and Dean has to bite back the urge to point out that Sam may have drunk demon blood and left him for Ruby and almost killed Bobby rather than have his soul reinstalled, but he’s never crossed that _line_ , never made a deal with a demon and kept it a secret and then insisted it was the right thing to do and completely ignored the fact that he knew it _wasn’t_. Chuck, however, fixes him with a stare that says he heard anyway and Dean glares back because hey, it’s the freakin’ _truth_.

“Like Sam, he did the wrong thing for all the right reasons,” Chuck says quietly. “Sam drank demon blood to improve his psychic abilities so he could save the innocents possessed by demons, and anyone else threatened by them; Castiel knew that if Raphael opened the Cage and set the Apocalypse back on course, you would all die, so he did what he deemed necessary to prevent that.”

“There must have been another way,” Dean says mulishly. “You should’ve brought him back as an archangel too, or you should’ve kept a closer eye on your kids and stopped them for going nuts and trying to start the Apocalypse in the first place.”

“Dean...” Sam says tightly, looking pointedly from Dean to Chuck; _dude, stop telling God how to do his job._

Chuck just raises his eyebrows. “Should I?” He leans forward slightly. “Castiel was never meant to be an angel of particularly high standing; he was meant to important, yes, to rescue you from Hell and guide you against Lilith and learn to follow his own instincts rather than the wrongful orders he was given and, eventually, to help prevent the Apocalypse and to reform Heaven according to what he learned from you. But he was meant to do all of that as an ordinary angel, to teach his brothers and sisters to think a little more for themselves rather than just follow the orders of another archangel. I mean yeah, I didn’t count on him being quite so affected by you, becoming quite so human, and because of that, because he felt so strongly for you, we’ve ended up here, and for that I apologise. But this was always going to be the endgame; he was always going to come back to you.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Chuck smiles. “You heard him earlier. He’s thought of himself as your guardian ever since he first met you, both of you, and the fact is, you two really shouldn’t be allowed out on your own. Sam and Dean Winchester, always poking their noses in, never able to leave well enough alone. Once Castiel had reorganised Heaven, he would have returned to you. I had intended him to keep his grace intact, so he could help you as he has been doing, but honestly? The boy needs to learn how to handle a firearm.”

Dean can only blink at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sam’s mouth hanging open.

“Knew if he hung out with those two idjits long enough he’d get some weird ideas about how far you go to save your family,” Bobby says finally, shaking his head, and Chuck’s eyes crinkle as he grins.

“All I ask is that you give him another chance.”

Dean glances over at Sam, who’s frowning down at Cas like he’s doing some complicated mental equation, calculating the probability of forgiveness versus the damage done when the wall came down, plus the whole Crowley thing but divided by the number of times Cas saved either his or Dean’s ass, which is a lot. And yeah, there’s quite a lot to forgive, even aside from the secret demon deal and the breaking of Sam’s wall - what Cas did to Doctor Visyak, for example, and his complete failure to notice that Sam was missing his soul, and that one time he used them as a distraction while he broke into Heaven’s weapon’s cache and almost got them killed. 

But then it’s _Cas_ , who’s helped them out of impossible situations more times than Dean can count, defying archangels and Heaven itself because he believed in them more, and doing his damn best to be less of a stuck-up asshole and more of a human being every step of the way. 

“He’s still a freakin’ _baby_ who needs some _serious_ help with his problem-solving,” Dean grumbles, but next to him Sam’s forehead has smoothed out and he huffs agreement. It’s not exactly gonna be hugs all round and forget all about it, but they’ll get there.

“You sure you wanna leave him with these two?” Bobby asks Chuck, eyebrows raised, and Chuck claps him on the shoulder.

“I’m counting on you to even things out.” He rolls back up to his feet and claps his hands. “So! You’ll be wanting to go back home, I guess?”

“Be nice,“ Bobby agrees, clambering upright himself and cracking his back.

“One second,” Chuck says, now sounding downright cheerful, and turns towards the window, which is just staring to lighten, and snaps his fingers.

They’re back at Bobby’s. Cas is on the couch, still out and still with Dean’s jacket under his head. Balthazar is standing by the door, goggling at Chuck like a startled frog.

“Oh,” Chuck says, turning to Sam and Dean, “and please, find him some new clothes?” He winks at Balthazar, and disappears. 

“That-” Balthazar croaks, still gawking at the place Chuck was standing, eyes huge. Normally, Dean would find that hilarious, and okay yeah, it _is_ still pretty funny, but Cas is lying there like a cut puppet and it’s really not _that_ funny.

“That was God, yeah,” Bobby says, back to his usual unimpressed self, and Balthazar touches a hand to his chest and blinks down at it in awe.

*

Balthazar lurks for the rest of the day, watching Cas with a weird expression on his face, like a kind of vindictive pity. He’s apparently discovered the joys of food though, cause he joins them when they eat and stuffs his face almost as much as Dean. When Sam starts wincing though, a couple of fingers rubbing at his temple but stubbornly refusing to admit anything’s wrong, he finally hits Dean’s last nerve.

“Sam? I can-” he says, starting forward, hand outstretched, and Sam recoils so hard he makes the armchair rock.

“No! No more angels messing with my head, okay? I’m _fine_.”

“No you’re not,” Dean snaps, and turns his glare from Sam to Balthazar. “Just _go_ , and _don’t_ try and touch him again.”

Balthazar looks like he wants to say something in reply, eyes glittering, but then he just blips out, although whether he’s actually gone or just invisible is anyone’s guess. Sam slumps back into the armchair and closes his eyes, face tight with pain, and Dean exchanges a look with Bobby and watches him nod and go off to root through his impressive collection of pain meds.

When Dean finally bullies him into taking the pills Sam’s out like a light, snoring away so loud Dean’s surprised he hasn’t woken Cas. Cas hasn’t stirred though, and when Bobby finally turns in, saying adamantly that he’s old and he needs a damn mattress under him, there isn’t really much for Dean to do except stretch out on the floor at the foot of the couch and try and get some sleep himself. If he listens, he can hear the occasional soft breath from Cas in the gaps between Sam’s snores.

Apparently it was enough to lull him to sleep though, because he wakes up in the dark, blinking to get his eyes adjusted. Sam’s snores have lessened, which means his head’s dropped down onto his shoulder or something and he’ll have a killer crick in his neck come morning, although Dean has to admit that he can’t say he’s too cut up about it.

“Dean,” comes the whisper again, almost subliminal, and he shoves himself upright and twists round. Cas is a darker shape on the couch, propped up on one elbow, his hair a mess of shadows and the line of his jaw lit by the moonlight coming in through the window. It reminds Dean forcefully of the last time he’d seen Cas like that, in this room and pretty much in this exact spot, telling him in that lost-puppy way of his that he was making shady deals with demons because of him, _for_ him, and the careful, sly way he’d asked what would happen if he _didn’t_ trust Dean. 

“Cas?”

Cas kind of sinks back down as soon as Dean answers, like just holding himself up was sapping his strength. Dean reaches out in the dark, finds the edge of the couch, the heat where Cas has been lying, and finally Cas’s arm, which tenses under his touch.

“You okay?”

“I feel...” Cas says, voice wavering, “...diminished. Frail.”

“Human?” Dean supplies, and Cas exhales like Dean just punched him.

“Yes.”

Dean squeezes his arm. “That’s okay. You’ll get used to it.”

*

*

*

When the doorbell rings, Becky’s first thought is that it’s the postman with her _Gilmore Girls_ DVDs (seriously, the guy looks _just_ like Sam, it’s uncanny. She’d almost fallen off the couch the first time she saw it, and had to go check with Chuck that Gabriel was very definitely dead and not trapping the boys in TV shows again) and if she maybe runs to open the door, at least Chuck thinks it’s funny.

It’s better than Sam-alike. It’s actual Sam (also Dean. And some man in what looks like one of Dean’s old jackets who she suspects might be Castiel. But mostly, Sam).

“Sam! Oh my god, how are you? You poor, poor boy!”

“Hey, Becky. I’m uh, fine, thank you.” His chest is as firm as she remembers, and his voice rumbles against her cheek. 

“So, how are you guys doing? You uh, you okay?” Chuck asks Dean, back to his usual scruffy self and squinting in the sunlight.

Dean shoots a glance at Sam, mouth quirking, then at Cas, who’s watching Becky’s attack on Sam with faint amusement. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _"You've never been so divine_  
>  _In accepting your defeat,_  
>  _And I've never been more scared to be alone"_  
>  \- "Folkin' Around", Panic At The Disco


End file.
